Jack's Christmas lunacy
by otherhawk
Summary: Twas the night before Christmas. And the author was bored so she wrote this. Would an apology help? I tink it counts as humour...


Hey, here is a random Christmas story, written on Christmas Eve. I don't imagine anyone will read it until after Christmas, but, what can you do? I thought of it and it wouldn't leave me alone.  
  
Pretty obviously, I don't own anything in this story. If I did, I would probably be able to write it better.  
  
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In Jack's defence, it must be remembered that he was very drunk at the time. And after all, the girl was very pretty. She was a barmaid in Port Royal, small, blond, curvy and giggly. Jack saw her and immediately declared undying lust. And ordered another tankard of rum. Oddly enough, it came with something called Coca Cola ( ) and a slice of lemon, but Jack decided that was probably just a space/time distortion thingy, and ignored it. Or more accurately drank it. He choked slightly on the lemon. By this time he was of course astonishingly drunk, even by his standards. And so he decided on a plan to win the girl's heart - or whatever else was available - by Christmas.  
  
He was in Port Royal because he was avoiding the Black Pearl. He was still in love with his ship, but Gibbs had gone, well, crazy was probably the kindest word, with the Christmas spirit. The ship now resembled a giant floating Christmas tree. It was covered in holly, ivy, mistletoe - god only knew where he'd got them from - random shiny bobbles, paper streamers, and stringed popcorn. The last of which Jack ate upon discovering that it was the nice, sweet stuff you got in cinemas. But when the last of the popcorn was gone, so was Jack's patience. Especially after he fell asleep on deck and woke up with a holly wreath around his neck (prickly) and a paper hat in the place of his own.  
  
Immediate action, he decided, was definitely needed. For a start he had to figure out what had happened to his lovely hat. He considered simply throwing the man off the ship, but he didn't have the heart. It would be like kicking a puppy. Or more accurately forcing a puppy to walk the plank. So instead, he had fled (after taking his hat back) along with half his crew, to the relative sanctuary of Port Royal, which had happened to be the nearest town. There was a unanimous agreement that it was better to risk being caught and hanged than to endure another festive sing along. Once in town they had split up - some to look for relatives or friends, some to seek put congenial company. Jack had sought out the nearest drink and had found Bessie, the barmaid. And, after a valiant attempt to singlehandedly drink the pub dry he had hatched his master plan.  
  
It was quite a simple plan really, he would lavish gifts on her. Easy, since being a pirate meant that he had a whole lot of stuff kicking around. But they'd have to be special gifts, he had to show her he wasn't just some dumb, drunken sailor. He left, to consider it at closing time, with an extra couple of bottles for the road. But the road didn't seem to be thirsty, so he drank them himself.  
  
The next morning - Christmas morning - he stood in the bar and looked round admiringly at what he had done. The presents were all nicely rounded up. It had taken all night, and a lot of swearing and drinking, but he had done it. Wow, he was good. He staggered upstairs to where the bar-staff lived.  
  
He was about to knock on the door, when he heard giggling. Curious, he looked through the keyhole. He didn't see anything, there was a key in it. So he gingerly opened the door and peeked through the gap. What he saw was enough to sober him up entirely, a feat that had previously been considered impossible.  
  
Bessie - his Bessie - was lying in the arms of another man, who gently tickled her nose with a sprig of mistletoe before kissing her. And what was worse, the man was Commodore Norrington!  
  
"Oh, bloody hell!" said Jack quietly. For a minute he was upset. Then he shrugged and figured that the girl plainly had no taste, and if she was the sort of girl who wanted to go out with a stuffy Commore rather than a dashing pirate Captain then, well, Norrington deserved her. Or something. He also realised that he'd been too busy hatching plans (and drinking) to actually talk to the girl. Well, he would know in future. Quite what he'd know in future he wasn't absolutely sure, but he was damn sure he'd know it.  
  
A sadder and wiser Jack made his way downstairs..  
  
Wait try that again ..  
  
A soberer and more mentally scarred ("Norrington with a girl eugh! I'd really hoped he was a eunuch" he thought) Jack made his way downstairs. Arriving, he was greeted by a rather odd sight; his Christmas gifts for Bessie. Looking at them sober, he decided that it was probably best that she was with Norrington. She'd never have gone for him on the strength of this.  
  
Twelve drummers were having a fight with eleven pipers over the proper time signature for Auld Lang Syne, while ten lords were leaping in an attempt to impress nine ladies, who were dancing together. In the corner, eight maids had abandoned their milking to compare notes on make-up and kept glancing over at him and giggling. Meanwhile, seven swans and six geese were eyeing each other in a manner not dissimilar to the two gangs in Westside Story. Five gold rings lay on the bar. Four calling birds flew overhead, and kept pooping over everything. Three french hens - well, actually three roast chickens, were in front of the fire being pecked at by two turtle doves.  
  
And, right in the middle of the room, looking down regally over everything, a giant partridge nested in the very top of a pear tree. Jack frowned at it.  
  
"Wonder 'ow I got that in 'ere." He mused. No answer came. No-one knew.  
  
"Well," he thought "This should do for a kind of revenge. I'll just leave this lot here." He moved happily towards the door, then stopped and came back. He picked up the five gold rings and a few bottles of rum then left.  
  
He didn't go far though, he waited just outside the door.  
  
He was rewarded about ten minutes later by an almighty ruckus. After a lot of yelling and screaming, Norrington came running out of the tavern with his trousers round his ankles, covered in bird droppings. He was closely pursued by nine ladies who all appeared to have fallen in love with him, and by ten lords who objected to this fact. Hot on their heels, were seven swans and six geese, who appeared to have put aside their own differences in pursuit of a common enemy; Commodore James Norrington.  
  
"Watch out for those swans mate." Jack cried. "They can break your arm with their wings."  
  
Norrington turned at the voice. "Sparrow!" he snarled "You're behind this!"  
  
Jack took off his hat and bowed low. "I'm behind this." He agreed "And they" he indicated Norrington's pursuers "are behind YOU." Norringtons eyes widened and, pulling up his trousers as he ran, made for the security and sanity of the fort.  
  
Jack laughed until he fell over. He was picked up (no not like that, I meant it literally) by Will and Elizabeth.  
  
"I suppose that," Will nodded towards the retreating commodore, the wrecked tavern and the ongoing musicians fight "has a sensible explanation?"  
  
Jack though for a moment. "No, not really."  
  
Will nodded. "I thought it wouldn't." Then why ask? Jack wondered "Do you want to come round to our place for Christmas dinner and tell us about it anyway?"  
  
"Alright, as long as I can bring the rum."  
  
So, a happy Christmas was enjoyed by all. Probably. Except Norrington. And Gibbs because he was all alone on the Pearl. And Jack sulked a bit because Will and Elizabeth wouldn't let him bring all eight maids a milking to dinner. But he soon got over it, especially since the one he did bring brought her own mistletoe.  
  
The End.  
  
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OK, that's got to be among the most pointless things I've ever written.  
  
Anyway, Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good fight, er bite, er kite oh, you know what I mean ... 


End file.
